The Bloody Phantasm
by BlackSamurai
Summary: In a world of artifice, he fights for something he doesn't understand to end something he knows is wrong. Slight AU


_"One moment in a warrior's life is worth more than the entire lifespan of that of a coward's"_

The ringing of metal echoed into the forest. The strange forest that had no green, only black and white, the tree trunks were black, the leaves were white and the shadows they cast were so eerie. So strange, so artificial yet so natural… this world was a paradise in the opponent's eyes… but a hell in the man in black's. It was… a world in stasis.

Nothing resided in the forest, only birds that were also black and white… and of course the two fighting. They were true warriors, true samurais that fought not just for their honor, for their country… but for themselves. They fought to better themselves, each swing of their blades bringing themselves closer to a personal nirvana. Each drop of blood bringing them closer to their climax, this was how they would live… this is how they would die. The only way they can truly be alive was like this, at the edge of a blade.

The fight was almost meaningless; the warrior in black had already lost everything, why does he continue? Why does he continue to move his sword, to swing it and to parry the blow? To draw the blood of the man that stood in front of him, weaving through blows so very much like himself. Was it justice? Righteous fury? Honor? Yes… Honor. That was it wasn't it? The reason the man would continue to fight, continue to push on, the black blade in his hand continuing to clang with the other white blade.

It had to come down to just a battle of swordsman ship, all energy, and all spiritual energy already fading to the winds. Both combatants locked in a dance or lethal steel and beautiful footwork. Each step they took was calculated; each parry they did was like a complicated, choreographed move.

"You took everything!" The man in black finally cried, tears welling up in his eyes but not at all hindering his ability to fight and see. The man did not reply, he did not need to dignify such emotional words with one. It was pointless, what could his words do besides enrage the man in black more?

It was beautiful, short and sweet when the final act was done. The man in black brought his blade swinging upwards, the metallic noise singing from the blades this time was different… not to the two combatants of course but to the rest of the world. Leaves ruffled, birds flew and chirped… it was so beautiful… yet it disrupted the entire world around them.

The hit was powerful, the man in black's opponent was taken completely in surprise, his weapon pushed to the side and thrown completely out of the man's control. Using only one hand to allow a greater field of movement, the man in black brought the sword for a horizontal backslash. The move cut deep into the opponent's chest, blood spewing through and splattering the perfect white clothes.

So perfect… the man in black just noticed it. Everything about him… this man was seemingly perfect. An illusion just like everything else the man stood for, a huge illusion that deceived even the keenest of eyes. The pure white of his clothes… his perfect attire that was in a serene… perfect white.

An illusion… all an illusion… something that the man in black had to shatter, the illusion was something that should not exist and was an abomination to all nature. He would shatter it, shatter this so called paradise that the man in white so loved and adored.

The blood splatter seemed so strange… yet natural in this fake forest. The red had an incredibly sharp contrast to the red and black world they stood in. The man in black did not pant, did not cheer nor did he smile. He merely looked at his opponent, blood dribbling down his now ruined and bloody clothes and onto his perfect world. His hands tried to stop it from pouring forth… from ruining his illusion.

"No…!" He gasped, but it was over. His illusion was gone, everything had ended… everything that mattered to the man in white had dissipated. No dream… good or bad last forever.

The man in black looked at the dying man with pity but then realized he deserved none. He had taken everything, everything of value to him. Let him die the slow death, not just physical but emotional and mental. After all… how can one describe it as anything but death when one saw their dream, their hard working dream shatter and dissipate into nothing…?

The man in black turned and started walking, tears starting to flow freely from his eyes. It was a death… but a death that would last forever. He no longer pitied his opponent but was almost envious. With his physical death, the constant pain and suffering of seeing his dreams shatter would end. The man in black however… continues and will always continue to live with the pain and horror of his dream shattering and dissipating.

Those two figures of life… fading before his eyes bloody and dead… it was too much at times. The man in black made no noise as tears continued to flow freely when he stepped out of the artificial world and into his own. Time stops for no one, reality awaits everyone. And reality was almost always painful.

A/N: I wrote this to "Gladiator" by Hans Zimmer; the theatrical score for the movie Gladiator starring Russell Crowe. I don't know why I wrote it and I don't even think of it as very coherent. I'm thinking it's more of a visual treat. How red, black and white blend together. It's a strange AU, where Aizen is no as powerful and godlike as one would perceive. He is no longer an awe-inspiring man of great stature… but a man that only wished to do what his Shikai and Bankai did so well… live in an illusion. Illusions however… always have to come to an end.


End file.
